Sona
by ChiefGrief
Summary: What she lacks in speech she makes up for with song. Or so she would have everyone believe. Our favorite support harbors a deep secret. Follow her as we delve deep into her past and how it ultimately will shape everyone's future. My first adventure into the art of writing. Please, enjoy.


**A-Note 6/13/15** **: This will most likely be rewritten multiple times. Enjoy ;)**

Sona sighed a heavenly sigh. It was about the only noise she could muster nowadays. Ezreal, her lane partner and teams marksman just gave the enemy team first blood. The two minute mark ticked by a few seconds later, followed by the sounds of summoners declaring "GG" on both sides.

Sona simply stared solemnly at her opponents who were snickering silently. Caitlyn gave a knowing nod to her jungle, Vi. Vi smirked back, proud that she was the snowflake that set off Caitlyn's avalanche. While Sona could only express her disappointment in musical form, inside her head, she was flaming.

"For FUCKS sake!" Sona was careful not to telepathically share this thought with her summoner. After all, she had an image to behold. "Fucking IDIOT with TWO FUCKING blinks cannot FUCKING dodge ONE Blitzcrank pull!" Her summoner recoiled. He couldn't hear Sonas thoughts but the feeling was radiating off of her, and thus, into him. Sona sent good vibrations, triggering early childhood memories of happiness inside him, until he calmed down. Sona had a secret, her facade as a kind and gentle mute musician was only one-fourth correct. Inside, without the phoniness or acting, was a dark and twisted woman.

Her earliest memories were ones of needless suffering and cruelty. Found in an alleyway, deep in Ionia, a baby Sona rested, clutching her only possession. If not for it, Etwahl, protruding under rubbish, she would of never been found. At least, that's what the Matron told her. The Matron was a cruel mistress. The owner of an Ionian adoption house, she had the caretakers, and especially the kids, under her perverted, iron fist. While it upheld its front as a home for the unwanted, in actuality it was a den of sin. Sonas life was filled with misery. The sights she witnessed and the things she was forced to do while under her care were unspeakable.

Sona was a silent, but strong child. Bottling up her emotions, she withstood all the abuse and torture inflicted on her but didn't give up so much as a wince to her tormentors. This took a heavy toll on her however. She would most likely have gone completely insane if it wasnt for her instrument, Etwahl. Her caretakers and the Matron herself could never manage to make it produce anything but the most vile sounds. Thinking it was broken already they let her keep it. However in Sonas hands, it could create sounds that were so heavenly could mend the ailing and other supernatural feats. But she didn't know it at the time.

After subjecting Sona to her most grueling session yet, The Matron followed her back to her pitiful living quarters. Wanting to see if the strong willed girl finally cracked she eavesdropped through the door. Instead of the sobbing and pain she expected to hear she was met with the most beautiful melody of her life. Delighted by the fact that she had a child that was worth something besides their body, she forced Sona to master her peculiar instrument. For sixteen years, Sona played and played, and strung and strung, for hours at a time. She could produce melodies that could lull the noblemen and women to tears. She could produce epics to rival the ancients. She was the greatest musician of her time unbeknownst to her. And Sona hated herself for it. She could feel the envy radiating off the other orphans. She could see the emotions of others as if they were notes on page. While she was treated, relatively well nowadays because her music made The Matron rich, the other kids had a… slightly worse time. While Sona was graced with two meals a day, the other orphans were lucky to get one. Sona had her own room to practice in and a small sink to bathe with. When she went to sleep at night, she had the comfort of not having to share it with some stranger. She was lucky. And the other kids hated her for it.

The sun was setting over Ionia. In another hour or so, some of its finest would gather downstairs. She readied herself, muttering words of encouragement. She fancied talking to herself, seeing as nobody else cared to listen. After donning her performance gown she approached her door. When she opened it, she was greeted by the scowls of the neighboring kids.

"Excuse me." She voiced. They said nothing. She was held down by the older orphans while the youngest sought their prize. With hammers and books and anything else heavy they smashed Etwahl. Rendering it into tiny pieces while Sona helplessly watched. The torrent of jealousy and rage from the other orphans poured into her soul. Sona, after a decade of being treated with semi-decency, was almost content. Without her instrument, she would be reduced to the level of these kids. Soon she would be locked in cellars made to rehearse lines of praise for this corrupt orphanage by day, and to service the seedy populace by night. Sona finally broke her vow.

She screamed. One of the oldest boys clutched his heart in pure agony before falling to the ground, completely still. She screamed again, this time, with more hatred. A girl, about ten or so, started bleeding from every orifice before stumbling over, dead before she landed. Another male, let go of Sona out of pure instinctual terror and ran. Sona glared at him. "Come" she said towards him. With the obedience of a pet, obeying it masters will, the boy stumbled raggedly back into the room. With tears in his eyes he begged for his life. He was only thirteen he said. He was very sorry he said. He didn't know any better he said. He died before his next sentence. She turned to the remaining orphans. Their faces of anger were transformed to faces of anguish. For years Sona bottled up her adolescent rage and sorrow. Never again. She counted. There were thirteen more orphans that she had to speak to. She crafted her next thirteen words carefully...

It was time for the grand show. The matron could hardly contain herself as she hurried up the stairs and through the corridor that lead to Sona's room. She was already planning how she would spend this evenings earnings before she stopped dead in her tracks. The Matron surveyed the scene. What was once the humble room of Sona, The Maven of Strings was now a festival of blood and carnage. The northern wall was now a collage of intestines and vomit. The southern wall was plastered with child shaped holes that lead into the next room. The eastern wall was decorated with broken window panes tinted with the all too familiar crimson. We will not speak about the western wall. In the middle was Sona, her tradition blue gown now a freshly coated red. Their eyes met. Sona spoke softly, before the Matrons very eyes, the broken instrument reformed between them and hovered in front of its wielder. It was brighter, bigger, and shone like the setting sun. Sona, as if to test her revived Etwahl, plucked it casually. The matrons nose flew off her head and landed a few feet beside her. Sona relished her shrieks. This piece, would be Sona's longest yet.

It was a crushing defeat. Or it would of been if Blue team didn't surrender at 20:07. The summoner, disappointed, but appreciative, gave Sona a farewell. She gave a curt smile.

"Fucking git" She almost said aloud. She had to be mindful of her curse. It wasn't too harsh., however. She is allowed exactly five words a day and she is smart enough to not waste them talking to herself. "One thousand, nine hundred, and eighty two games before my chat restriction is lifted" She mused to herself. It would be funny if it wasn't such torture. Her lack of speech wasn't a defect as the world thought, but a punishment. The League did not know why such a beautiful maiden had the mouth of a bilgewater sailor. Perhaps she was a troubled child, but they did not dare to ask. Her very first match ended with her summoner resigning, declaring in tears that he would never don his robes again. The league had no choice but to silence her. And again. And again. After six months in the league Sona managed to rack in three thousand silences. They would of banned her from participating if her looks didn't rake in thousands of male viewers.

She left the facility absentmindedly. She looked back at the rift and scoffed. To protect the citizens of Runeterra from violence and struggle, they assigned representatives to commit violence and to struggle. And the populace loved it. Soon after its construction an eery peace brokered out outside the continent, even including the bitterest of rivals, Demacia and Noxus. Sure there were few skirmishes here and there but not anything out in the open. The denizens of runeterra naively thought they had nothing to fear. Nights of fear and uncertainty were replaced with nights of romping and debauchery, mainly before, during, and after a League match.

The Fields of Justice were never located in an easy to reach spaces. Inside volcanoes, haunted forests or under the waters supported by magic, they served to keep intruders at bay. The Summoner's Rift was no different. Surrounded by acres of trees and treacherous wildlife its secret location is well guarded. Sona could easily use one of the teleporters to return home but she wanted to give herself a brief respite. In other words, cut loose. Still sore about her humiliating loss she ventured a few miles outside of the Rift and allowed herself one of her few words.

"Damnit" She uttered in no particular direction.

A bear, most likely on the prowl for some sustenance, perked up towards our maiden. Its hind legs kneeled back towards the dirt as its torso, arms, and legs flew off into the night sky. If only the league knew her true powers. Yes she can play melodies that can cut steel, heal the sick, and move you forcibly to her knees, but her real power is her voice, particularly, her tongue. She didn't know why she had this power, she never questioned it. But she did know that its ferocity parallels to her "toxicity" as the more sensitive people call it. The more bitter and angry she got, the more power her voice could command. She knew what the league would do if she let them find out she had such godlike powers so she kept it hidden. A champion she would never admit she once admired, a young girl named Irelia, made the mistake of overachieving on the rift. She was never the same proud Ionian leader after that.

She would never let the administrators over at the league touch her precious voice. Her tool etwahl beckoned to her. One of the conditions of joining the league was a full appraisal of one's abilities. Sona mistakenly let them examine her instrument. Ever since that day she could feel its full potential locked away. She sneered, and let out another curse, "Bastards.". A school of fish from a nearby river surfaced, dead in the water. Then another. The smell and sight of the dead aqua life disgusted her, and she set off back into the Rift, to teleport to her home in Demacia.


End file.
